The train carried him to the coast where a thousand other young men stood in loose lines waiting to board ships
Powerful work, Victor. The imagery alone is fantastic, but coupled with the growing sense of dread and impending death, and the existential question which reveals both the eternal obsolescence of geographic identity and the cruel farce of war - "who am I?" - takes this to another level.
In a world riven by madness, it is reassuring to find stories that expose the hypocrisy and self-righteousness of the architects of hysteria. It reminds us that there is light amongst the dark shadows, and that light is there for us if we choose to embrace it. I am embracing it with your help. Thank you for that.
And congratulations on the one year anniversary! It has been a pleasure to experience your imagination. ¡Felicidades y disfruta del pastel!
"We are not our own masters, they said. We serve wiser guides."
Compelling and thought provoking writing, Victor. I have come to expect nothing less from you. Congratulations on one year of helping to make Substack a place for fine writing.
Maravillosa y reflexiva historia. Gracias Victor. Felicidades!! Aquí tu🎂 👏👏
"He stood with his throat full of birds..." "It started with a father who brought the razor strap down where his spine shimmered bone..." "For weeks the ships slow glided over gray seas." "Every young man turned every young head with every young face to the east where their destiny sat surrounded by tombstones. The day of their days stood upon them." Beautiful, Victor. I send the cake of admiration to you. Congratulations on a year of very fine writing.
"But the question rose as Icarus toward the furnace of the sun and melted." - Don't question, just do as the elders say. Another fine one, Victor!
You write so lyrically - as if you are the ancient sage or witchdoctor on the edge of the community with a warm, life-giving fire always at hand and a tale woven from your tongue.
Happy Cake Day! This story is a strong testament to your writerly chops. I FELT it!